


Late Night

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Leverage
Genre: Catharsis, Discipline, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot shows up at Nate's door in the middle of the night.    </p><p>Written for Raven for the bdsm-fandom Valentine's exchange. For these suggested story elements/requests: Nate/Eliot, over-the-knee hand spanking, emotional aspects of the scene, discipline, catharsis, comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night

Eliot knocked on Nate’s door. After a minute, he knocked again and Nate answered, his eyes groggy.

It was 3AM. 

Nate gave him a long, discerning look. 

“Eliot. Come in.” 

They walked over and sat on Nate’s couch. Nate was wearing his sleep clothes, a dark gray T-shirt and old sweatpants, and his hair was sticking up at odd angles. Deep bags settled under his eyes.

He looked like exactly what Eliot wanted.

“Sorry to come by so late, man.”

Nate shrugged. “Sleep is overrated. Let’s get to it.”

Their regular thing. 

“We don’t have to,” Eliot said, noting how exhausted Nate looked. It wasn’t entirely true. Eliot _did_ need this; he wouldn’t have shown up at this hour if he weren’t so on edge he was about to punch a few walls down.

Nate smirked. “Like I’m not looking forward to it.”

Eliot smiled. “How do you want to do this?” 

Nate leaned back into the couch and patted his own thigh. Over the knee, Eliot understood.

Eliot stood up and unbuckled his jeans. Anticipation was starting to course through him, starting to drown out the memories that had brought him here.

His jeans and boxers dropped to his knees and he moved forward.

“No,” Nate said, “Jeans and underwear all the way off.”

Eliot obeyed. When he was naked from the waist down, he knelt beside Nate on the couch and slowly eased himself down over Nate’s lap. Nate’s hand set down gently at the base of Eliot’s spine to guide him, and Eliot shifted his knees forward to better display his ass. 

Nate moved his hand down to Eliot’s ass, sliding over it, caressing it. Eliot felt nervous, the safe anxiety he always felt when they did this. He was safe here; he and Nate had always had their share of fights, but Nate had never – would never – abuse this, the power Eliot gave him like this. Even if Eliot couldn’t fight, even if he were actually afraid that he could be overpowered, Eliot would still trust him with this. 

Nate’s other hand moved to Eliot’s head and he stroked his hair softly. Nate always did this, and Eliot always wondered why (he never asked). Did he think that Eliot needed the reassurance? 

“Let’s see, you’re being punished for…” Nate said, “Uh… for trying to do too much and never letting anyone else emotionally support you.”

Eliot tensed for a moment. If this were any other situation, Eliot would have made a remark to the effect of ‘pot, kettle.’

Sensing this, Nate immediately responded, “We’re not here to talk about my behavior, we’re here to talk about your behavior.”

Both men laughed.

It felt strange to Eliot, this moment of humor, over his knee, his body was spread out for Nate. They were usually so careful to keep the mood somber when they did this.

“Fine,” Nate said, “You’re being punished for, ahhh….”

“For waking you up in the middle of the night?” Eliot suggested. It was important to Nate, that a punishment was always for a reason. Eliot figured it had something do with Nate’s overdeveloped sense of justice. 

“No,” Nate said firmly, slowly, patting Eliot’s shoulder. “You’re under orders to come here when you need to, and I expect you to obey,” he added, voice half playful and half threat. “Umm… I’m punishing you because you didn’t rest as much as you should have after your last injury.”

“That was four months ago. And you punished me for that already.”

Nate let down a hard smack on Eliot’s ass. “No arguing,” he said, not quite keeping the smile out of his voice. “I’m going to punish you until I’m convinced you’re not going to do it again. So… probably I’ll punish you until you’re 80.”

Eliot chuckled. Nate was in a strange mood. 

“No, no, I’ve got it,” Nate said decisively. “You tried to back out after you came in. You said you didn’t need this. Not your exact words, but, you know…. So you were trying to lie to me. You were trying to give me an out, you were concerned about me. I know it was well-intentioned. But you’re never allowed to lie to me, Eliot.” His voice shifted as he spoke, from the genial friend to the dominant voice, the voice that made Eliot start to go hard.

“Yes, sir.” He resisted the urge to grind against Nate’s thigh. 

“Tell me why you’re being punished, Eliot,” Nate said. Nate liked the ritual of it all, Eliot knew. He liked the shows of obedience and admissions of guilt, the sense that his discipline could make things better. Eliot had become used to it, had come to find it a comfort, a way for him to relax, to focus on nothing but Nate and on the punishment to come. 

Once, and only once, during one of their sessions Eliot had suggested, “Just punish me for being who I am. For… the way I am.” He had looked up at Nate, wondering just for a second if Nate would judge him, if Nate would go into some bullshit justification for why they should feel good about themselves, some comforting drivel that was beneath them both.

Nate hadn’t of course. He had declined, gently, saying, “That’s not something I’m able to do,” and they both never mentioned it again. 

This time, Eliot answered, “I’m being punished because I tried to back out. I was dishonest and pretended that I didn’t need this.” The words sounded strange in his own ears, his voice cracking on the word ‘need.’ 

“And next time?” Nate asked.

“I won’t do it again,” Eliot said, realizing that he meant it, that it was silly to pretend he didn’t need Nate, that Nate saw right through it anyway.

He wondered, for a moment, if Nate needed him. If Nate needed this. If-

His thoughts were interrupted by a hard smack on his ass. Then another. And another. 

Eliot felt Nate’s hand continue to come down on him, keeping a steady rhythm (Nate didn’t like to give Eliot a reason to be surprised, a sudden change in pattern that could trigger a defensive reflex). Eliot felt the pain, the sting, and it soothed him. He focused on it, let his other thoughts drift away or least not grip his mind so tightly. He relaxed, tried to go limp on Nate’s lap, forcing his mind to think about the feel of Nate’s hand on him. 

It went on for a long time, and Eliot savored it, felt chastened and owned and taken care of at all at once. It wasn’t a feeling that he allowed himself to indulge in often.

He realized at one point that Nate’s arm must be tired, that Nate’s hand must be in more pain than Eliot’s ass. He knew it wasn’t his place to comment, though, and so he just felt grateful that Nate would do this for him. He didn’t know what Nate got out of this, they had never talked about it and Eliot didn’t particularly want to make him, so Eliot didn’t know. But Eliot knew that it must be something; Nate must like giving him this, doing this for him, for some reason. 

The knowledge was a comfort. Not just because he wanted to Nate to enjoy it, to find pleasure in it, and in Eliot. Eliot was comforted to realize that it helped Nate, that somehow this relieved a little of Nate’s own pain, that it helped him focus on something good, something between them that had nothing to do with the past, with the shit that had been done to them and worse, the shit that they had done.

When they were finally done, Nate rubbed Eliot’s rear end gently, the other hand stroking his back in comforting circles, until Eliot said he was ready to move into the bedroom. They lay on their sides then, Nate behind Eliot, warmth and softness on Eliot’s back, and they went slowly. Eliot was tempted to go faster, but Nate was still in charge, and Nate decided that they would go slow, that he would tease Eliot with his fingers forever before entering him. 

After Nate finished inside of him, he finished Eliot with his hand as he kissed Eliot’s shoulder, a free hand smacking Eliot’s sore ass to remind him, to help him feel owned.

They lay there together after, holding tightly, catching their breath.

Nate eventually said, “Do you want to tell me why you came here tonight?”

Eliot paused. He came here tonight because of Croatia. Because of Thailand. Because of Marseilles. And especially because of everything he did for Moreau. 

Everything he had done for everyone he’s worked for, actually. Everyone but Nate.

But Nate had helped him dull all of that, turned that knife edge into a rough buzz, distant. 

“I don’t need to,” Eliot answered. It was the truth. He had all he needed.

Nate kissed him on neck lightly. “Okay. Good night, Eliot.”

“Good night.”


End file.
